heart
by Saotome Jin
Summary: He did something bad, but he'll always forgive. [ CHARACTER DEATH. HichigoKeigo. ]


_A/N: MY FRIENDS ARE HORRIBLE AND MAKE ME WRITE THIS GORY, ANGSTY STUFF. ... eventhoughican'tsayididn'tenjoyit. Character-death and gore out the ass. and angst. and guh. : read at your own risk, I suppose._

He had been beaten up before, but nothing ever this bad.

It wasn't just the numbness in his fingertips, or the blurring of his vision. Nor was it the jabbing, dagger-like pain in his chest, the pounding of his head or the steady trickle of blood that was coming from God-knows-where and running down into his eyes.

It was the fact that it was not a bully, punk or feared enemy who was doing this to him.

It was Ichigo.

Keigo laid still on the ground, the feeling of his bruised cheek brushing against the asphalt providing nothing more than a reminder that he was still alive. He tried to move his hands, but found that there was nothing left to will them to perform as he desired; just enough to create a slight twitch, but not enough to allow them to push himself back up.

Ironic. Too ironic. His luck was _horrible, horrible, __**horrible**_. No. This was more than just "bad luck." This was damnation.

Dark eyes squinted. His lips pulled a bitter smile. He could feel the vibrations through the ground, feel the raging, violent pressure in the air. He could _sense_ him coming back.

And, probably worst of all, through the perpetual ringing of his ears, he could hear him _laughing_.

The laughter was hollow, lifeless, yet arrogant and commanding. His voice was cutting, sharp as the blade he now held firmly in his hands, "Up."

"..." Keigo winced. He wanted to oblige, with every last bit of himself. He wanted nothing more than to be able to sit up, ask him _why_. No. Not even that. Just _looking_ at him would be enough. He hadn't gotten a clear enough look. It happened too fast, but he could have _sworn_ his eyes were black.

But, he couldn't move. His chest heaved in a panicked manner as he tried--damn you, _move_!--to just roll over, if anything. His arms were weak enough normally, barely able to lift his own weight, and now they lacked even that much. He had emptied the last of his strength trying to dodge and block the hits.

That cutting voice returned, far less amused than previous. He was coming closer. Closer, _shit_. Keigo braced himself as he felt a tug on his long hair, "I said, _up_."

There was a yank and a shaking and his vision turned white for the slightest of moments. He coughed, the metallic taste of blood spilling over his tongue.

And, as his vision returned, he saw black eyes.

"Ichi.. go..?" He was trying not to black out, really he was. But, his eyes felt so _heavy_..

"...Ou-sama isn't here right now..." A fierce smirk was contorting his face, so much so that Keigo almost didn't recognize him. In fact, he didn't..-- He.. wasn't..

Keigo felt nothing at first. Just the strangest sensation that he was moving and then, something was hitting him. Something else, something warm, splashed on his arms and hands, spilling down his stomach and down his legs, staining his grey pants and making his skin sticky. Whatever it was that had hit him was a solid object, and it was pushed at him with incredible force. .. No. Not _at_.

It was _through_ him.

His eyes widened. He was being propped up from the cold ground by an even colder blade which cleaved through his diaphragm with a considerable force. His arms dangled limply, nothing but a reverberating aftershock twitch running through them. The mere absurdity and surrealism of the thought alone could have very well held enough power to override the actual physical feeling of the sword plunged through him, but it didn't.

"Gkk!!" He could not formulate words, but "Ichigo" seemed to prefer it that way.

"Ou-sama really likes you, but... I don't.." Ichigo-Who-Was-Not grinned, eyebrows knitting as his expression gained a level of irritation, "I don't know why he does; you're not strong.." That strong arm, the same arm Keigo had once linked around with his own, shoved forward and the blade sliced through something inside of him, sending an eruption of blood sputtering from his throat. Keigo cried out, voice cracked and strained, "Ichi.. Ichigo..!"

"Hmnn.. Pretty voice... maybe that's why..." The other looked pensive for a moment, his free hand reaching down to touch--not grasp nor hit, simply _touch_--Keigo's face, "Pretty face, too..." His thumb rubbed over a cut on his cheek gently, eliciting a bit of blood out, as it was still a fresh wound. Keigo barely felt it, all senses and feelings focused on what was going on in his chest. "..." Ichigo-Who-Was-Not narrowed those dark, lifeless eyes.

"...Hate him. Ou-sama wants you to hate him."

There was a darkness creeping around the edges of Keigo's vision. It had started before, barely noticeable. But now, it was flooding inwards, silhouetting "Ichigo's" body. The warmth of his own blood and innards on his stomach and thighs was feeling very cold, but the hand on his face still radiated heat, pouring through his skin and holding what fleeting focus he had. It was just enough to allow Keigo to process what was said, dark eyes flitting up and wavering upon the focal point of "Ichigo's" face.

Keigo shook his head, an action deemed as a mistake mere seconds later as it made everything spin around. His voice was a broken representation of its former life and exuberance, a feeble whisper snaking past chapped lips, "I... can't.. I won't... n-never.."

Ichigo-Who-Was-Not frowned for the first time since his glorious appearance that night, long, deft fingers tightening their grip on the hilt of the sword and inching it in further. Keigo's body twitched and he relished it, neck craning so that he could feel the last few puffs of breath escape his lungs that were surely slowly drowning in his own blood. He pressed his cheek against Keigo's softly and said flatly, "You should."

"..." His eyes fluttered. Oh, had he dozed off? No, that was not good. He wobbled on his knees, arms feeling like lead weights as he pulled them up to rest against "Ichigo's" shoulders. The other jerked, though did not pull away as he leaned his head, his poor, tired head, on top of him and smiled. With that sharp metal in his gut, the swirling, light-headedness sending his vision into darkness, Keigo smiled.

"I c-can't, never. because.. I love him.. I love you."


End file.
